


Practice

by sve_aph



Series: Trust the Process [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: High School AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Musicians, self neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sve_aph/pseuds/sve_aph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musicians work really hard, especially the ones in high school who don't get paid, and that's easy to forget. Oftentimes the musicians themselves don't realize how hard they're working until they're a danger to themselves. It's important they have friends to support them and stop them from pushing themselves too hard. </p><p>Or, Austria is an idiot and Prussia notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> All things accounted for, this is a true story based off my own struggles as an aspiring musician.  
> There is a teensy bit of swearing and several mentions of starvation/self neglect, so please don't read if that will bother you.

“Where’s Roddy?” Gilbert asked as he slid into an open seat at the lunch table.

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t been to lunch in the past two weeks and I haven’t seen him hardly at all outside of class.” Elizaveta admitted, looking concerned.

“Really?” Gilbert wasn’t the type to stick around for lunch. He usually only stopped by their table to swipe some food before whisking off again to wreak havoc elsewhere.

“I would guess he is practicing.” Kiku mentioned. Gilbert stared at the small Japanese teen in bewilderment.

“During _school_? But he never practices during school. Not even when he’s freaking out about being unprepared for a lesson. Throwing fits about the shitty quality of the school’s keyboards is like his second hobby.” Gilbert insisted.

“Text that one sophomore friend of yours. Band kids always know what each other are doing.” Ludwig suggested with a disinterested shrug. He had never cared much for the uptight neighbor his brother always seemed determined to pester.

“Oh yeah, that’s a good idea.” Gilbert send a text to his friend Matthew, who played French horn in the school band, asking if he knew where Roderich was. The reply was quick, and Gilbert perked up, jumping from his seat with a grin.

“Where is he, then?” Elizaveta asked, correctly assuming that Gilbert had gotten an answer.

“Practice room,” he announced, striding off towards the band hallway that was isolated on the other end of the school.

It didn’t take long to track down the pianist. He was tucked into a small sound proofed room, planted on a keyboard with a metronome running. Sighing when he realized the door was locked and there was no way Roderich would let him in, he left to find Francis and Antonio.

Over the next couple of days, Gilbert repeatedly attempted to get to the practice room before Roderich, but he never made it, not even when he skipped class to do so. That resulted in a scolding, so he didn’t try it again.

Soon enough, Matthew informed him that there was a huge state piano competition coming up. He would perform in it as well, but in a lower group. Roderich was in the run for nationals, so obviously he’d be more concerned with the utter perfection of his piece.

Advanced German was the only class that Gilbert shared with the Austrian, but during that daily hour he’d noticed that Roddy had been wearing thick black gloves, never seeming to take them off. He tried to ask him about it during the passing period, but he was brushed off with a cold ‘none of your business’.

The week passed and Roderich looked worse and worse. Each day saw him looking more and more haggard as the circles under his eyes deepened and grew. Gilbert began walking him home in worried silence, disturbed by thoughts of what could happen to Roddy in his exhaustion. The albino’s actions were regarded with suspicion, but no protests were made.

After two weeks of missing Roderich at lunch, being unable to catch him in the practice room, escorting him home each day, and not seeing his light turn off until the wee hours of the morning, Gilbert encountered an empty practice room during lunch. Confused, he slowly headed to the cafeteria, thinking that perhaps the other teen had actually chosen to eat.

Roderich wasn’t in the lunch room, and none of his friends had seen him. They all sent Gil looks of concern as he walked away again. Gilbert understood the worry, of course. He had long since lost the bounce in his step and sleep pulled at his eyelids in every class, but he couldn’t help but be more worried about Roderich than himself.

Wearily trudging towards the bathrooms in search of the missing pianist, Gilbert heard the faint sound of what he knew for a fact was the slamming of elbows on a keyboard. He considered the direction of the sound for a moment before realizing that Roderich must’ve been practicing on the baby grand on the school’s stage.

Gilbert stepped in the back door of the auditorium, letting the door shut softly so he didn’t alert the musician to his presence. He turned to face the stage and his breath caught at the sight that met him.

Minimal lighting shone directly down on the gleaming black surface of the piano. It was clear to Gilbert that Roderich, in all his finickiness, had taken the time to polish the damn thing before sitting down to play. His pristine brown hair shone as his glasses slipped further down his nose, and a stubborn flyaway lock tickled the edge of his face.

Gilbert knew how Roderich played. He had seen, heard, _felt_ it countless times. He knew the straight form of his back, the way his long fingers curved over the keys, how his neck arched carefully as he swayed with the dynamics of his music. Roderich was beautiful when he played, and he was beautiful at that moment as Gilbert gazed at him, mesmerized.

But as he drew nearer to the stage and the oblivious musician on it, it became clear to Gilbert that all was not as it should be. Roderich’s shoulders were more hunched than he deemed proper, his clothes hung loosely on his thin frame, his face was drawn and gaunt, and his hands shook as they stroked note upon note.

It was obvious that the relentless practice schedule Roderich had enforced on himself had taken its toll. He heeded to eat, sleep, and shower. He needed to stop thinking about that damn Chopin piece and that fucking competition. He needed to take time to breathe and remember that music was his soul and he shouldn’t torture it so.

A foul note rang out clearly amidst the careful entanglement of chords, followed by a sudden lack of sound and a choked sob. As if a cracked dam had finally crumbled, tears began streaming down Roderich’s face. He leant down to rest his forehead on the bridge of the piano and clutched his hands closely against his chest.

Blood thrumming with alarm, Gilbert rushed up the stairs and knelt by the piano, unsure of how to help. Roderich didn’t react to his sudden appearance, so Gilbert scooped him up and hauled him backstage, carefully laying him on the old couch stationed in the dressing rooms. Roderich blinked slowly, as if he had only just realized that Gilbert was there. He let out a shuddery exhale, weakly trying to sit up.

“What are you doing here, Gilbert? I-I’m very busy, actually…” Roderich trailed off hesitantly when confronted by Gilbert’s stern expression.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What’s going on?”

“It-It’s really none of your business.”

“The hell it is! You keep _saying_ that, but I’ve _made_ it my business. I’ve spent the past three weeks trying to take care of you because you can’t seem to do it yourself. You haven’t been eating, you haven’t been sleeping- and don’t even try to deny it, because I _know_ this. I know you think I’m an idiot and maybe I am, but not with you. I’m not stupid when it comes to you. And I _know_ that all you’ve done is practice! It’s not healthy! Did you know that you _smell_ , Roddy? How could you let yourself decline like this?” Gilbert’s voice roughened as his accent grew deeper during his outburst.

Roderich looked away in shame, breathing deeply for a moment before turning back with a pink blush spread across his high cheekbones.

“I-I never thought that you were an idiot.” Gilbert’s eyes narrowed and he quickly hurried on. “Maybe when I first moved here, yes, but not for very long. I know you better than that now.”

“Then _talk_ to me, Roddy. _Trust_ me. What’s going on?”

“Well… you see, I have a piano competition coming up. This Saturday, actually. And it’s so, so, _so_ , important. This is the one that everybody goes to. All the college reps, all the talent scouts, everybody who is anybody in the world of classical music will be there.

“If I want to have any sort of successful classical music career, then I need to at least make it to National Finals, and it would really be best if I won Nationals. If I don’t make it, I don’t have a chance. And if I can’t do music I’m lost. There is no plan B, Gil. Music is my only option. And I can’t do it unless I’m the best, because I _need_ a scholarship. You know there’s no way my family will be able to pay for tuition to a music school.

“And the thing is, this is my fourth try. I’ve entered this competition every year since I was a freshman. Usually only juniors and seniors enter because the standard is so difficult to reach, but I entered as soon as I could because I was so sure that I was the best. Everyone scoffed at me because there was no way a fifteen year old would win.

“I was too cocky; I ignored them. I was so _arrogant_! I should have fucking listened to them, because they were right. I didn’t make it that year, or the year after that. Last year I finally got to Nationals, but it’s only the finalists that really matter. So now, if I’m not a finalist, I’ll be a laughing stock in the industry for the rest of my life. I’ll never get anywhere.

“So yes, I’ve abandoned all other aspects of my life for the past couple of weeks because _none_ of those matter in comparison to the utter perfection of this piece. I _need_ to be flawless. If that means giving up meals and grades and sleep, then so be it. The scholarship will be worth it.” By the end of his explanation, Roderich had been reduced to weak shudders, crumpled in on himself.

Gil sank to his knees on the floor beside the couch and reached for Roderich’s hands. The pianist flinched, but didn’t resist when faced with Gilbert’s stern expression.

Gilbert’s heart sank as he examined the hand cradled carefully in two of his. The entire limb was enflamed, the fingertips swollen and sore. Roderich whimpered with each touch and it was clear that his nerve endings were on fire.

“Tell me about the gloves.” Gilbert demanded, his voice cracking.

“Well, at first they were for protection. To get a paper cut or any type of scrape or blister would be disastrous. But it wasn’t long before I decided to get weighted gloves. A lot of people do that, actually, so it wasn’t too big of a deal. And now, in the past week or two, I lined the inside with soft material simply for comfort. My hands hurt so much, but I can’t stop practicing, so I just bear it.” Roderich explained, warily watching Gilbert’s fingers as they traced circles on his sensitive palm.

“This isn’t okay.” Gilbert stated.

“I’m _fine_ , really, Gilbert, you’re making such a fuss over _nothing_.”

“ _No,_ I’m not! C’mon, Roddy, you’re smarter than this! Tell me- how many times have you fainted this week?” There was a pregnant pause before Roderich muttered,

“Six,”

“Six?! No! Do you realize that you’re on the brink of hospitalization? You’re literally killing yourself with this fucking competition.”

“That… can’t be…”

“ _Trust_ me on this. I have enough friends that are screwed up enough that I’ve been through this multiple times. Believe me, I know what you’re going through. I get it. But now you have to let me take care of you, okay?” Roderich waited a moment before slowly nodding. Gilbert pounced on the opportunity.

Rummaging through a dusty storage cabinet, he pulled out a few blankets and tucked them around Roddy like a swaddled baby. It was clear from his expression that the pianist wanted to protest. Gilbert pulled a heat-fogged tupperware out of his backpack, along with plastic utensils and a steaming canister. Roderich rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the way his stomach moaned at the smell of food. Gilbert smirked and pulled up a footstool so he could sit next to the couch.

“The fettuccini is Lovi’s, so it’s gotta be pretty awesome, and I stole the tea from Yao, so that’ll be really good for you.” Roderich smiled gratefully as Gilbert placed the food in his lap, but he hissed when his swollen fingers tried to wrap around the fork.

Gilbert’s visage fought between a smirk and a frown as he took the fork back. Roderich rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop his friend from slowly twirling the warm pasta around the prongs.

“You say _I’m_ being stupid, but _you’re_ the one suicidal enough to steal pasta from a Vargas.” Roderich muttered. Gilbert just grinned and waiting until he had accepted the forkful to reply.

“It’s not exactly suicidal. See, by stealing Lovino’s lunch, Toni has an excuse to offer to share his, and Lovi has an excuse to accept. Now Toni owes me a favor. Lovi doesn’t owe me anything because I did steal his lunch. But still. Everybody’s happy.”

“Still suicidal. Wait, does that mean that in a convoluted sort of way, I’m eating _your_ lunch?” Roderich asked.

“Well, kinda, yeah,” Gilbert shrugged. “It’s not a big deal though. I only eat a real lunch like once or twice a week.”

“Idiot! _Idiot_ , I’m telling you! I won’t eat unless you eat.” The pianist proclaimed. Gilbert just laughed. Without warning, he grasped Roderich’s chin, pried his jaw open, and forced him to take another bite.

“I don’t think you’re really in the position to be making demands here, Princess.” Gilbert chuckled. “Don’t worry, though. I think at this point we can safely say that I’m more capable of taking care of myself than you are.” As if to prove his point, Gilbert took a bite of his own and swallowed with a deliberate gulp. He couldn’t help but notice that the action made Roderich blush just a little more.

Once the pasta had been eaten and washed down with tea, both teens were feeling much better, although admittedly sleepier. Gilbert carefully put the tupperware away and texted Ludwig to let him know what had happened. Roderich had been strangely acquiescent, and the trend continued as he passively allowed Gilbert to tuck him in.

Gilbert had intended to work on some late homework while Roderich slept, but he found himself unwilling to leave his side. With the tense worry of the weeks prior melting away into wary relief and a warm meal in his stomach, Gilbert didn’t resist the soft lure of sleep.

* * *

Ludwig sighed. He shouldn’t be so disappointed- he  _knew_ his brother would be late, but he had gotten his hopes up anyways. Referring to the text he had received earlier that day, Ludwig made his way backstage, for the most part ignoring the Italian bouncing at his side.

The sight he was met with was only somewhat unexpected. Gilbert was sitting on the floor next to the couch with his torso twisted around so that his head and arms rested on the cushion. Roderich was curled sideways on the couch so that he faced in towards Gilbert. His hands were resting gently in the cradle of Gilbert’s.

Ludwig couldn’t keep his heart from swelling. As much as he didn’t care for their lazy, aloof, and easygoing neighbor, Ludwig couldn’t deny the feelings his brother had for the guy.

It had been like that since Roderich had arrived, really. From the moment he showed up on their doorstep with a pout on his face and a German chocolate cake in hand, Gilbert had been fighting a losing battle. He spouted frustrations and irritation over the ‘pansy’ next door- that is, until the first time he heard Roderich play, and it was all downhill from there.

With a smile on his face, Ludwig led Feliciano away, leaving the two sleeping teens in peace.

* * *

Mattie whistled as he strolled down the empty school hallways. He had had an exceptionally good day. He had gotten around ten hours of sleep, gotten up early enough to eat a full breakfast  _and_ pack a large lunch, and he had only fallen asleep during two of his seven classes. To top it off, he had gotten in a fight with both Alfred  _and_ Ivan during hockey practice.

Once practice was over, he saw the text from Ludwig asking him to wake up Gilbert before he went home. It was an odd request, but Mattie wasn’t in the mood to be giving anyone any hardships.

Mattie grinned when he saw Roderich and Gilbert sleeping. He took a few pictures before waking Roderich and leaving. Now he had blackmail _and_ shipping material to sell to Elizaveta and Kiku (separately, of course). It had been an exceptionally good day.


End file.
